driftveiling
by Ju5t An0th3r H3d63h06
Summary: it's all Nate's fault. maybe. —or, Rosa drinks a few cups of not-fruit-punch, Hugh takes her home, Nate makes pancakes, and Nancy may or may not be related to N. au, sequel and transceiver, oneshot.


**a/n: I have the mother of all headaches. It's so bad, I think it gave birth to all the other headaches out there. Freaking _ow._ Also, I don't know what is going on with this, so don't yell at me for any oocness or underage drinking ok thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Pokémon, then the guy in my class who looks and acts exactly like the heartbreaker Charles from Driftveil (minus the bike, but with the bald head and leather) would be getting paid to act in the anime.**

* * *

you, me, and the DJ  
dancing till the break of dawn  
no no no never gonna stop  
now let's party on

~u-kiss, neverland

* * *

_i. prelude_

* * *

Technically, it's all Nate's fault.

* * *

If Nate hadn't lost to Elesa, maybe he wouldn't have lingered in Nimbasa City for so long.

If Nate hadn't lingered in Nimbasa for so long, maybe he wouldn't have discovered the Battle Subway.

If Nate hadn't discovered the Battle Subway, maybe he wouldn't have found out he was an excellent strategist.

If Nate hadn't found out he was an excellent strategist, maybe he wouldn't have beaten the twin Subway Bosses in one go.

If Nate hadn't beaten the twin Subway bosses in one go, maybe Emmet and Ingo wouldn't have scouted him to be a Single Train boss.

If Nate hadn't been scouted and subsequently become a Single Train Boss, maybe he wouldn't have invited Hugh to Nimbasa City for a Subway challenge.

If Nate didn't invite Hugh to Nimbasa City for a Subway challenge, maybe Hugh wouldn't have discovered that hotels in Nimbasa are impossible to come by.

If Hugh hadn't discovered that hotels in Nimbasa are impossible to come by, maybe Nate wouldn't have offered for him to stay at his house in nearby Driftveil.

If Hugh didn't decide to stay over at Nate's house, maybe he wouldn't have discovered the lack of Dr. Pepper in his friend's refrigerator.

If Hugh hadn't discovered the lack of Dr. Pepper in his friend's refrigerator, maybe he wouldn't have dashed out to the nearest Poké Mart.

If Hugh hadn't dashed out to the nearest Poké Mart, maybe he wouldn't have seen the girl about to fall off the edge of Driftveil City's mini bridge.

* * *

If Nate had won his fifth Gym Badge, maybe this story wouldn't exist.

* * *

_Maybe._

Finicky word, isn't it?

* * *

_ii. Hugh_

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?" demands the young man, dropping the flimsy plastic shopping bag onto the ground and dashing over to the railing. "You're going to kill yourself!"

"I'm balancing!" cheers the girl, giggling like a maniac as she wobbles atop the thin metal rails.

Hugh's spirits sink as he realizes the strange girl is most likely inebriated. Her cheeks are oddly flushed, and she seems unbothered by the cold even though she's sans a jacket and it's literally thirty degrees. "Get down. And get rid of the cup," he adds, noticing the red Solo cup she's holding in her right hand.

"Whaaaat? Why?" protests the girl in a whine. "I'm thirsty!"

"I have Dr. Pepper." Hugh glances around for the plastic bag and finds his drink has rolled a little off to the side of the street. He scoops it up quickly and shows it to the girl, who is still perched dangerously atop the rail.

"Ooh, soda! That's better than fruit punch!" The girl leaps off the rail and lands neatly on the sidewalk, swaying gracelessly as she attempts to get her bearings. "It tasted kinda weird, anyway."

_She thought that was fruit punch?_ thinks Hugh incredulously, rolling his eyes as he finally manages to get a good look at the strange girl. She's slightly shorter than him and looks about eighteen, nineteen at the most—too young to be drinking, for sure, but the bouncers don't care who gets into the hotel parties after a certain time. Her light brown hair is done up in some weird style that makes her look like she's got two cinnamon buns sticking out of her head. She's wearing at least six different colors and a shirt that looks like more of a pajama top, and she's spinning like a Baltoy underneath the harsh glare of a streetlight.

Hugh sighs and catches the girl before she falls into the street or something. "Hey, you. Are you here with anyone?"

"I have a name, you know!" The girl's cerulean eyes fill with indignation as she glares in his direction.

"Do tell," responds Hugh drily, letting go of the indignant young female. She struggles to stay upright as she thinks.

"Ummm…my name's Rosa. Y-yeah. Rosa!" declares the girl triumphantly.

"I'm Hugh," he says, because politeness still applies even to those who are so smashed they can't remember their own name properly.

"Oh, and I'm twenty years old!" continues Rosa with a grin. "Most people think I'm younger 'cause of how I look."

"Is that your real age or how old it says on your fake ID?" quips Hugh cynically as he hits the top of the soda bottle to de-pressurize it.

"Nope, that's my actual age. My ID says I'm 22, I think." Rosa sighs and plunks down on the filthy curb, apparently not caring about her skirt. Hugh takes a seat next to her, a bit more carefully because he's actually fond of his dark jeans.

"So, what's your deal?" asks the cobalt-haired male bluntly, cracking the Dr. Pepper without incident and passing it over to Rosa. Usually, he wouldn't actually care about strangers he met on the street, but this girl—correction, young lady—looks like she needs someone to listen.

"My ex-fiancé's an ass," replies the brunette just as bluntly. The combination of cherry soda and cold Driftveil air seems to be sobering her up slightly. That or she's bipolar. "So I graffitied his house and went partying with my bestie."

Hugh snorts and decides he likes this girl.

They talk. She tells him that she can't stand her job because everyone is annoying and she would rather draw than sit at a desk and type up surveys for HQ all day and she wishes she could go on a Pokémon journey just to have the experience, you know? And he says that he does know, because his journey was spent tracking his runaway younger sister and her Purrloin and now he lives in a shitty apartment in Castelia and serves coffee at the café on Narrow Street to pay bills while he decides what he wants to do with his life.

"I guess neither of us is okay," says Rosa as she downs the rest of the Dr. Pepper. (For some reason, they've been passing it back and forth.)

"I have to go home and deal with the fact that there may or may not be a new species of Solosis living in my fridge," replies Hugh, kicking a stray rock into the gutter. "I'm definitely not okay."

Rosa laughs so hard she starts to cry, and then she really is crying rather messily into Hugh's jacket and he tenses up because he pretty much has no idea how to deal with anyone of the opposite gender using him as a tissue (actually, he has no idea how to deal with anyone in general using him as a tissue, and he doesn't quite know how he feels about this but suspects that he will be annoyed later on.) One of his arms comes up to her shoulder to catch her in a sort-of hug, and she slumps against him and cries harder. Eventually, she runs out of tears, and he barely catches the whispered "thank you" in his ear before she passes out.

"What the…" Hugh stares at the brunette woman currently using him as a pillow, thoroughly confused and beginning to favor his earlier theory of her being bipolar. Just as he is beginning to think he should maybe attempt to find her friend, his Xtransceiver rings. It's Nate.

"Hey! Hugh!" yells his messy-haired friend. "Did you get eaten by a giant mecha Tyranitar or something? Hurry up!"

"It's digesting me as we speak," replies Hugh sarcastically. "What are you, my keeper?"

"No, it's just that the doorman gets off his shift in about ten minutes, so you'll be locked out."

"Locked out?" Hugh glares into the Xtransceiver camera. "And I'm guessing you don't plan on letting me in, do you?"

"Of course not," replies Nate cheerfully. "That would require walking!"

"Lazy ass." Hugh directs his crimson eyes to the sky and hangs up on his friend.

Rosa shifts in her sleep, mumbling slightly. Hugh directs his gaze to the brunette slumped against his side and realizes, with some trepidation, that he'll have to take her with him. He has no idea what her so-called friend looks like, much less where to start looking, and Nate will probably end up locking him out anyway if he's too late because the Battle Subway fan girls have actual Nate-radar and will likely mob him even at one in the morning.

With a sigh, Hugh picks up the still-sleeping Rosa and carries her bridal-style down the sidewalk.

* * *

_iii. Rosa_

* * *

The first thing Rosa registers, even before she opens her eyes, is an enormous headache. Her head is pounding so hard it feels like something is trying to split her skull open, and burying her face in her pillow doesn't help at all. It does, however, protect against her second enemy. The window apparently lacks a curtain or any type of blinds, and the rays of the sun are on full blast against her face. Rosa's headache multiplies, and she groans.

"Oh hey, she's awake!" Suddenly, there's a boy with all-over-the place brown hair in her face, looking very much like a five-year-old as he stares at her with wide chocolate eyes. "Hi, strange girl! This is my house. I'm Nate. I'm the Single Train Subway Boss. Hugh brought you here last night because he said something about not being able to find your friend, but I think it's because he likes-"

"NATE!"

Rosa flinches at the loud voice and clutches her head. "Ow!"

"For the love of Cobalion's freaking sword," swears the owner of the voice as he walks into her line of vision, wincing slightly. He's tall, with cobalt-blue spiky hair and crimson eyes, and is carrying something in his hands. He sets it down in front of her before unceremoniously yanking his friend away from Rosa. "Nate, you idiot. Would you want someone talking to you if you had a hangover?"

"No," mutters the shorter brunette, staring at the ground like a scolded child. "Sorry, strange girl."

The young man winces and runs a hand through his hair. It spikes right back up again. "Sorry about that. Nate's usually harmless, I promise you."

Behind him, Nate sulks and stomps out. "I said I was sorry."

"Anyway, here's some medicine," continues the man, ignoring his friend as he hands Rosa two aspirin and a glass of water. "It'll help with the headache a bit."

"Th-thanks." Rosa sits up and accepts the medicine, downing it in the same fashion as one would take a shot. She sits up to examine her surroundings properly for the first time.

The room around her is open and spacious, with a floor-to-ceiling window covering one wall and opening up to a balcony with a fantastic view of Driftveil Bay. The remaining walls are painted a shade of sky blue and contain fluffy white clouds similar to the ones in the sky right now, as well as a wonderfully detailed painting of a Thundurus.

Rosa gasps, unable to suppress her shock. Whoever painted the legendary Bolt Strike Pokémon has effortlessly merged its body colors to the wall, making sure that you could only see it if you were unusually observant or made a habit out of staring at walls. As she watches, other Flying-types emerge: an Altaria camouflaged in a cloud, a Salamence frozen mid-roar, a Skarmory angling its steel-gray wings to catch imaginary rays of light. Turning her head, Rosa spots a Latias flickering tentatively on the edge of the visible spectrum and the tail of a Hydreigon disappearing onto the ceiling, which is covered in glow-in-the-dark stars.

"Cool, right?"

Rosa jumps as the young man who gave her the medicine comes up behind her. "This is Nate's guest room," he continues. "He got bored one day, so he painted on the walls. Naturally, his landlord almost murdered him."

"How old is he, again?" Rosa asks amusedly, inwardly wishing she could paint something like this in her apartment. Sadly, running surveys is a full-time gig (but it pays decently, so she's not complaining.)

"Twenty-two. Or five, whichever you prefer."

The two share a laugh before an awkward silence falls over the room.

Rosa twirls a cinnamon strand of her hair haphazardly around one finger. Her buns have been taken out, which she's thankful for—sleeping in them was bound to be painful. "So, um…who are you?"

"Please tell me you're joking," replies the crimson-eyed male exasperatedly. "You can't remember _anything_ about last night?"

"I don't know wha-_oh._ _Shit._" Color floods Rosa's cheeks as she realizes that she pretty much dumped her problems on a complete stranger and then passed out while using him as a pillow/tissue.

"That's what SHE said!" yells Nate from outside the room. Rosa blushes furiously, and light pink dusts itself across the bridge of the stranger's—correction, Hugh's—nose as he yells for his friend to shut the hell up. Nate responds by sticking a hand into the room and promptly flipping him off.

Rosa stifles a giggle at the two's antics.

Hugh hears her and groans.

"Great. As if one kindergartener in this house wasn't enough."

Rosa loses it and cracks up laughing. Hugh adopts the traditional "someone-save-me" pose complete with damsel-in-distress expression, which causes the cinnamon-haired girl to laugh even harder.

"What's going on in there?" Nate pokes his head through the door, brandishing an Oshawott pancake flipper. "Considering what I just heard, should I be worried?"

"If I had shoes on, I'd throw them at you," retorts Hugh.

Rosa catches sight of the pancake flipper. "Ooh, waffles!"

"No no no," corrects Nate quickly. "_Pancakes. _Waffles are for lazy asses who just pour their mix into a pre-cast, pre-heated pan and never have time to appreciate the wonderful culinary convection that is the noble pancake."

"R-right." Rosa flushes pink again and decides not to inform Nate that she is one of the waffle makers. Catching sight of her expression, Hugh leans down to whisper in her ear.

"Don't worry about it. I make waffles too."

* * *

_iv. Nate_

* * *

Nate rolls his eyes at the duo currently monopolizing his breakfast table. They were obviously meant to be either besties for life or soul mates. (He's banking on soul mates, because Rosa is downing a stack of pancakes like she's not currently suffering from the hangover to end all hangovers and Hugh is staring at her like she's the greatest thing since sliced bread.) Tempted to make a comment just to have the satisfaction of watching his best friend squirm, he almost misses the telltale bubbling of the next pancake and quickly rushes to flip it over, easily maneuvering the Oshawott-shaped pancake flipper underneath his perfectly golden breakfast dish.

"Two more pancakes, coming right up!" cheers the brunette, gleefully flipping two pancakes onto the stack in the center of the table. "Oh, and there's more syrup in the cabinet," he adds, noticing that strange-girl-Rosa has almost finished the bottle. "Maple, fresh from Lostlorn Forest."

"Lostlorn Forest?" Rosa pauses in her inhalation of the stack in front of her. "You've been there?"

"Uh-huh!" replies Nate cheerfully as he empties the last of the batter into the pan. "It's really quiet. Sometimes if you just sit on a rock and stay there for a bit, you'll see things start to actually change around you. I think a Zoroark lives there."

"No kidding!" Rosa's cerulean eyes go wide.

"Yup." Nate nods, deadly serious. "There's an ancient legend about it."

Hugh raises an eyebrow, but before Nate can glare at him for completely crushing his dreams in that realist way he has, the doorbell rings. The brunette freezes in place.

"What's up?" asks Rosa through a mouthful of pancake.

Nate shivers. The room drops a few degrees, as if to respond to the ominous warning tone of his words.

"_Fangirls."_

"Oh. Is that all?" Hugh goes back to eating his pancakes, completely unperturbed.

"You're going to make me answer the door?" demands Nate. "What if I get mauled?"

"Then I get your house." Hugh smirks and reaches for the syrup.

Nate scowls and stomps out of the kitchen/living room. "Lovely friends I have." He picks his way around the couch and heads for the front door of the two-bedroom apartment, wincing as the harsh and insistent ring of the doorbell echoes around the house once again.

"Coming, coming!"

The messy-haired brunette cracks the door, bracing himself. Surprisingly, no one plows through his door or screeches loudly in his ear. He sighs in relief and opens the door a little wider.

"H-hi." A petite girl is standing in front of him, nervously tugging a white hat over her pale-pink hair. "U-um…I'm looking for Rosa?"

"You're pretty," blurts Nate before he realizes what he's saying. The girl turns the same shade as her hair, and he blushes.

"I-I mean…umm…"

Thankfully, Hugh comes to the door at that moment, saving Nate from further sticking his foot down his throat. "Yo, Nate. If you're still alive, your pancake's on fire."

Nate turns tail and heads for the kitchen, swearing under his breath at his stupidity. He swears again when he realizes Hugh was not kidding about the "fire" part and quickly dispatches his Reuniclus to trap the flame in a psychic bubble until it runs out of oxygen.

Rosa eyes him from her spot at the table, looking mildly amused. "Huh. Usually fangirls don't have that effect on people."

"You mean causing people to completely trip over their tongue and revert to five-year-old mode?' responds Nate, scowling at her. "I don't even know what the hell is going on anymore."

"Aw look, someone's got a case of love-at-first-sight!" The brunette Hugh brought home last night (wow that sounds wrong, maybe he should just stick with calling her Rosa) grins widely at him as she reaches across the table to steal the rest of Hugh's pancakes. Unfortunately for her, Hugh walks in at that exact moment.

"Hey!" yells the cobalt-haired male, snatching his plate back. "I was gonna eat those!"

"Ow. Yelling." Rosa winces and holds her head; apparently more aspirin is needed. Hugh hurriedly apologizes before informing her that she has a visitor.

"It's Nancy," predicts Rosa glumly as she stands up and starts for the door. "Well, it was nice knowing you both. Make sure you guys give me a kickass eulogy—_OW OW OW,_" she finishes as she is dragged out of the doorway by one of her Sailor Moon ponytails.

Nate peers curiously around the doorway, Hugh copying him. The pink-haired-girl is shaking Rosa violently with an expression that is equal shades of worried, furious, and scolding.

"Don't—ever—randomly—disappear—like—that—again!"

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Really!" Rosa finally manages to break free of the pinkette's death hold and sinks onto the floor, looking rather dizzy. "I only left the party because it was too hot and I was gonna asphyxiate, probably…"

"Hey. You." Hugh steps out from behind Nate and glares at Pink-Hair-Girl. "You need to keep better tabs on your friends. Rosa almost fell into Driftveil Bay yesterday."

"I-I'm sorry!" apologizes the girl timidly, turning several more shades of red. "I-it won't happen again!"

"No more sneaking into parties for me, thanks very much," adds Rosa as she stands up. "I think I'm gonna hurl."

"Bathroom's down the hall to the left," says Nate automatically, and the brunette bolts. Hugh sighs exasperatedly and trails her, leaving Nate and pink-hair-girl alone in the living room.

"So, um…pancake?" tries Nate, attempting to stop the awkward from seeping into the room.

"I'm not allowed to take food from strangers," blurts Pinkette (he's calling people by hair colors now, they sound less weird) before slapping a hand over her mouth, looking completely horrified as she mumbles what sounds like an apology through her pale purple sleeve.

"It's okay. Me neither." Nate quirks a sheepish grin. "What's your name?"

"U-um…I'm Nancy." Pinkette looks up from the floor, and Nate catches himself staring just in time. "What about you?"

"Nate Blanc, at your service!" Nate salutes her cheerfully before awkwardly realizing what he's doing. "Er…my bad. Work habits die hard."

Pinkette—correction, Nancy—laughs, and Nate grins tentatively in response. Reuniclus floats out of the kitchen, having extinguished the pancake fire, and glances worriedly at its trainer.

"Reu-ni, rei reuniclus. Rei?"

"Well, what am I _supposed_ to do?" demands Nate. "Walk out of here without a shirt on?"

Nancy's eyes go wide. "Wouldn't that cause you to be attacked by them?"

"You understood Reuniclus?" Nate asks, awestruck. "It took me ages, and we've been besties since I was a kid!"

"W-well, yeah…" Nancy trails off, poking two fingers together awkwardly and eyeing the carpet like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "I mean, my favorite type is definitely Normal, but I really like Psychic types. They're easy to talk to for me."

"Cool." Nate grins for real this time. "So, any ideas on how to deal with the three stalkers parked on the sidewalk in front of that window?"

"You could always try water balloons." Nancy looks up from inspecting the floor to give him a wide and slightly mischievous grin, and Nate's heart skips a few beats.

"Y-yeah. We could do that."

* * *

_v. dénouement_

* * *

The pancakes are burning again, but neither Nate nor Nancy is paying attention as they fill up a bucket of water balloons and take up stations by the kitchen window.

Rosa emerges from the bathroom and mutters something about a waste of pancakes, to which Hugh snorts and offers to take her home.

Reuniclus accidentally blows up the smoke alarm with a too-strong Psychic attack. Bits and pieces of it litter the floor of the kitchen, and the Psychic-type decides it would be a good idea to recruit the help of Nate's Zoroark.

* * *

Maybe it _was_ actually all Nate's fault.

But for now, _maybe_ doesn't matter.

* * *

Fin.


End file.
